


The Bleeding Left

by sciamachy



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23064163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciamachy/pseuds/sciamachy
Summary: He blinked and blood dripped to his left eye. He pressed his lips firmly to prevent the sob that was threatening to come out. More blood trickled to and from his left eye. So he stared boldly with his right.
Kudos: 8





	The Bleeding Left

_If… If it wasn’t for that month._

_-_

It was dark.

The curtain must have fallen shut, blanketing the little child’s sanctuary in gloom. Only a little light – it was so small; a flickering glow – brought on by that partition in the middle of the curtain, was the direction.

The boy, Ciel as he was called, sat still in the middle of his cage. Knees folded and pressed to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees, head resting on his arms; a picture of seclusion. Bruises littered the pale skin, dried blood lining on face, chain rubbing the skin raw; an image of decadence. Dirty hair plastered to his face, torn shirt and missing buttons, trousers ripped strategically at places; a reflection of opportunity.

The boy, Ciel as he was called, sat in the middle of his cage.

It was _dark_.

-

There was light.

Lifting up his arms for cover at the sudden burst of brightness, Ciel squinted. Men. Women. They flooded his sight as they surrounded his cage – they were endless, everywhere. They gazed at him with piercing gazes and he shuddered in disgust. The gaze was physical, emotional, and mental. It was mental. It was torture.

Their laughter corrupted his behavior. It seized his thoughts.

The murmurs forced his actions. It erased his emotions.

Somewhere, a sacramental knife gleamed.

He stared at the hands that slowly unlocked his cage. Forcing it open with an almost violent yank, his cage groaned. He edged away from the freedom, away from the middle; he was unto the other end. He screamed, flailed and jerked his limbs as his chain was tugged until he was outside his sanctuary. He wept tearlessly and silently as the little boy broke.

The words destroyed his mentality. It incinerated his desires.

Their touches eliminated his hopes. It killed his feelings.

They slaughtered him.

Somewhere, a sacramental knife gleamed.

There was _light_.

-

It was nothing.

The hands that roamed his body were cold. Old. It was calloused and wrinkly. And it was the hands of his handler, mentor, and torturer. The man – no, Ciel thought, it was not a man; it was just a creature, not a man, not even a human – grinned predatorily. The creature enjoyed every second, every minute of his revulsion; his hatred, deep and dark and endless.

He hated everything yet he minded nothing.

More hands contributed to the inspection. To his desecration.

The little boy shattered.

Ciel screamed and prayed to the gods. He clasped his hands together and shut his eyes tightly. He ignored the sneers, the groans, and the laughter around him, above him, and beneath him. Beneath the stone altar he was laying on. Beneath the floor the creatures were standing on. There was laughter.

He pitied himself. He pitied God for the loss of another faith and trust; the loss of himself.

He condemned Him.

Chants echoed around. They were praying.

It was the irony of them all.

Ciel slowly opened his eyes. He saw the creature. He saw the blade and the carvings on it. He shrieked. He thrashed against his restrictions. He cried. He begged for mercy and for anyone. Someone.

The knife was plunged.

He hated everything yet he minded nothing.

It was _nothing_.

-

There was everything.

There was numbness. It was tangy and rich. It was the taste of the end. It flowed everywhere and soaked everything in crimson.

There was also the blackness. It was cold and ruthless. It was his salvation. It spoke to him and only him.

Ciel stared at the oblivion before him. It stared right back with its sight – there were no eyes, just infinite black that meshed with crimson. It did not surround him but it was the only thing on his vision.

He blinked and blood dripped to his left eye. He pressed his lips firmly to prevent the sob that was threatening to come out. More blood trickled to and from his left eye. So he stared boldly with his right.

There were shouts. It was not his. It was filled with terror and panic. It was music to his ears.

There was a proposition. It promised everything. It was right. It was offered and accepted.

The soul of the demon rushed to Ciel. He unthinkingly cupped a hand over his left eye. It wasn’t perfect. It’s not right. Coldness crept to his exposed eye and his mouth fell open in a silent scream. Crimson lines started to carve over his right iris. Slowly, painfully – it was as if it wanted to remind him, pain will get you nowhere yet bring you everywhere.

There was a man, dressed in black and smiling, smiling, smiling. Perfect.

There was the contract, carved in blood and hurting, hurting, hurting. Glorious.

There were shouts. It was not his. It was filled with terror and panic. It was music to his ears.

There was _everything_.

-

_If… If it wasn’t for that month._

**Author's Note:**

> A repost of my work way back in 2009. Inspired by a certain chapter which I already forgot. Lol. Orginally posted in LJ and FF.net. OwO


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